A Twist of Fate
by supertrackstar
Summary: Rough beginnings make for tougher times. A lesson young Dani has known for most of her years. It seemed as if fate would never turn until an unexpected encounter.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: A Common Thought of the Deprived Soul

The morning sun beat down on me with an intense heat; burning my skin and causing sweat beads to appear on my forehead. My back ached beneath the heavy load I had, slung over my shoulder. My feet slowly blistered in my old leather shoes and every step was filled with pain.

Why I went through this torture everyday I knew not. It was sheer stupidity on my part, for taking on farming. It was a cruel joke made for a sadistic mind. Only a fool would participate in such tasks this job required. Caring for all sorts of farm animals; horses, cows, sheep, and pig. Maintaining the utilities and structures, whenever the need arose. Planting and gardening and hoeing the vegetables in the fields. And what was currently taking place, lagging heavy loads of corn and seed, from the rusted shed, to the stables of horses. It was no easy job. I spent hours working here; from when the sun rose up above the hills to when it was settled high into the sky. But it was a necessity. For in return for my hard labor I received a home. You could even say a family. Almost.

Manuel Stone and his wife Genevieve rented out there house to drifters, people passing through the town, and provided them with the essentials; bed, bath, and food. As long as they met the demands they were allowed to stay for how ever long they pleased. The demands you ask? Well for one, the nomad had to be in good physical condition, and not to mention healthy enough to endure the hours.

They also had to be decent. For the Stone family included two young girls; Adela and Isabel, the latter being the eldest at the age of 9. Adela was 4 years her junior. They were two blonde hair beauties, both with pearly green eyes. So anybody staying at their home had to be proven safe. You were practically interrogated. The protective parents sat you down on one of there over-cushioned chairs and stood over you, asking you anything and everything; criminal records, violent histories, religious matters.

I was surprised that I myself passed the test. The final key to being accepted was simply on your person. They observed manners and politeness, how well you behaved. You were mostly judged by your actions, and only slightly by your looks. It helped to be cleaned and spiffed up; to make a good impression.

Overall it was rather difficult to get in, but not impossible, and there were others besides me. Norman Black, a large bearded man with, ironically, pitch black hair. He was rosy cheeked and smelled of pine. It was probable that he had once been a woodsman. Even more because he was excellent with tools and such. He had a hand for it, as if he was born knowing how to saw and hammer. And let us not forget Verven. Tall and thin, he reminded me of a weasel. He had greasy blonde hair that reached just past his shoulders and glazed eyes; I would have thought him blind if not for his ability to move so precisely. He could look you directly in the eyes when speaking and knew where objects lay about the house. So therefore my theory had been disproving. Verven always wore the same attire, consisting of a long black robe, grey tunic and breeches, with thick soled boots. He was very quite, rarely speaking, and secluded from the others and myself. I wondered how he had passed the expectations of the Stones. I never sensed danger when in his presence but just uneasiness. Verven was almost intimidating in a sense.

But I never let him worry me. I was usually too preoccupied to even think, much rather cower about. My duties were just as heinous as the two men. This was reasonably fair considering my capabilities. The strength of my own muscle could be compared to that of grown men, and my speed was unmatched. I could run over vast distances without stopping once for breathe. Still, the work here was harsh. Norman agreed with me completely; I hadn't bothered asking Verven.

The house was massive from a commoner's perspective. There was a room for each guest and even two washtubs. They had a spacious fireplace where they baked bread, and roasted meat. Attached to this room is a cellar where produce was stored. It was always cool down there, an escape from the outdoors. They even had a living area with comfy couches and chairs. Genevieve kept her home spotless and always smelling pleasant. She had no job but to mother her children and so was around often. Her husband owned a market store in Bree where his supply was sold. They were a very wealthy family and I owe them much for their hospitality. And to think that all rich men were evil. I guess it's just a common thought of the deprived soul.

AN: More to come!!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Investigate a Deeper Meaning

I trudged through mud and grass, every step spraying me with the thick material. Hay cut and tore at my open flesh, and stung when the lesions came in contact with the rain. My clothes were soaked through and clung greedily to my body. My hair was plastered to my face and back, making it nearly impossible to see.

Lightning flashed, thunder crackled, and rain poured. I was in the midst of a storm.

There had been no forewarning; not a dark cloud in sight. I had been busy pulling stubborn weeds, when a long breeze swept past me, catching my attention. I looked around then up into the sky. Surprise washed over me, as I saw the many thunderheads. Drops of water fell onto my face and ran down my front; beneath my tunic.

I turned my head in the direction of the house. It would take me at least an hour to reach. By then this storm would grow out of hand. I did however know of a small gathering of houses and stores, just beyond where I stood. I could find shelter, wait the storm out, and then return. My need for a decision was rushed, as thunder sounded in the distance. What to do, I thought to myself. The rain picked up, and turned into a more persistent sprinkling. It looked as if the best choice was going to be the town. But where there was settlement there was people; who I tried to avoid at all cost. You never know who you might meet in a crowd. But still, what choice did I have? For surely I would be struck by lightning or if it were to flood, I would drown.

And here I am now, wandering through the freezing rain, headed towards the retched place. The larger houses could be seen through a wooded area, just beyond my current place. Excitement ran through my veins as the promise of warmth overwhelmed me.

As I entered the town I spotted a couple of stores and what looked to be a pub; perfect. To my delight, no people wandered the streets, with the exception of a two kids playing in the puddles. I entered the tavern to find only a few other customers. Two women sat at the bar, chatting drunkenly with the counter man; both with scanty attire. Another man sat in the corner, under the shadows, sipping something with steam rising from it; presumably tea. I studied him for a fraction of a second more, with caution. He was a stranger and I couldn't be too careful. Because who knew who he really was?

I sauntered up to the bar and sat myself on a stool. The fat bartender eyed me for a moment, before placing his self in front of me.

"What can I do ya' for ma' lady?" He had a gruff voice, almost like Normans; though this man's held no charity. His eyes darted south, below my stare, and I coughed, bringing his attention back to my face.

"I'll have water." The corners of his mouth twitched downward in disappointment. Maybe he thought he'd get lucky if I was drunk? Yet I had no desire for alcohol. Not after my experience dealing with the foul stuff; and especially not in my current circumstance. I needed full control of my body, incase a problem arose. Being a wee bit tipsy would give my opponent, if there were to be one, the upper-hand.

The barman returned with a mug of water. I checked to make sure that the color wasn't altered. I held the glass to my nose, and inhaled any odors that would linger there.

"It's not drugged miss," the barman studied me from the corner of his eye; cleaning the inside of a spotless mug.

Sure it wasn't; just like you're not a perverse man, looking for a good time. Although I hadn't detected any sign of the drink being contaminated, I still took precaution and had the tiniest sip.

Nothing; no color, no smell, no taste, no way it could be drugged. The man smiled malevolently, having made me think otherwise. Dirty bastard; mind my language. I grabbed the glass and took off to a secluded table, away from the few people.

The man in the corner still hadn't moved him from his spot. He was like a statue, or one whose life had preceded them; lifeless. What reason did he have to be so confined?

This subject always bewildered me. Why do people do, what they do? Just think of how many persons you see everyday; the number of people that you overlook, whose presence doesn't even register in your mind. They all have stories. Their lives are novels, every page a different day, every sentence a minute of their life put into words.

But who actually takes the time to read those books; to look at the pages and see what they've encountered and to know why. Every movement, every action is a reaction from a past event, that had such a tremendous effect on their life to alter their thoughts, feelings, and emotions. Yet not one soul stands and ponders the reason.

For who is so conceited in their life, to ignore others'? Look around you, and see these people. But do not look with just your eyes. Hear the madman's babble, ushered between gritted teeth. Smell the scented perfume, roll off the confident woman. Feel the tensed muscles beneath your lover's skin, and taste the sweat, running from your lip.

Use your senses to reveal a person's behavior. But don't stop there; no. Keep going farther, delving deep into the innermost secrets that lay within the soul.

Watch as their eyes dilate and there brow wrinkles. Hear their heart pound beneath their chest. Feel the heat radiating from soft cheeks, and see them flush from pink to red. Taste the passion; the sweet art of making love.

From personality to sex, you can take a closer look; investigate a deeper meaning. But finding out why is not so easy. You can't simply ask a person; "Hello Sir, kindly tell me why you wear your pants so low," or "Lady, why do you walk with a swing in your hips?" It would be blunt, and because of that, highly unlikely for them to give an answer.

So then, how would you know? You won't, can't, it's impossible; I know, I've tried.

AN: More to come!! Don't give up on the story yet, it'll get to the more exciting parts soon enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Company Isn't Included

So deeply concentrated in my thoughts, I had failed to notice the corner-man walking towards my table. It wasn't until he entered my peripheral vision, that I noticed his presence. My body tightened on instinct, but I forced myself to relax; so as not to look surprised. Instead, I acted as if I had known of his intruding, but had just now decided to speak up.

"Tis not like a gentlemen to come upon a lady without first introducing himself."

I peered up at the man, finally revealing his face. He had scraggily brown hair, of a shorter length, and eyes to match; the color that is. His skin was covered with a thin layer of dirt, but looked fair. With peachy lips pressed into a thin line, he looked the grim type. Yet his eyes showed that of bemusement.

"Forgive me, ma lady. I couldn't help but watch you from my place; you're quite the belligerent woman." Belligerent; who is this man?

"You still haven't told me your name."

He chuckled under his breathe, so quietly that I almost missed it.

"Irwin." Lie. The moment the word left his mouth, I knew it wasn't the truth. For when he spoke his eyes darted to the left and his came fast. But the most efficient way to tell when someone is lying is by the breathing pattern. And sure enough his was irregular.

"Irwin is it; did your mother give you that name?"

"No, my name has been passed down from generation to generation, the first born son always receiving it."

Backup story maybe? Hard to tell if that was a lie or not. His breathing hadn't changed and nothing else gave me any clue. Perhaps he had only been hesitant about revealing his identity.

"So Irwin, from where do you reside?" Let's see if he could answer this one.

"Théoden." His breathe had hitched while saying the "o", most definitely a lie.

I looked toward the translucent window, to see if any light was escaping the outside. I saw but the dull glow of the glass. I turned my attention back to "Irwin" to find him staring at me intently.

"So ma lady, what is your name?"

I faked a lie; a very impressive move for deceiving your enemy. I lifted my head, opened my mouth, turned my eyes to the right, and then paused for a second to answer "Dani." This wasn't actually a lie.

"Hmm, that isn't native of this region. What's brought you to this place?"

"Business," I answered with a shrug.

"Of what type?" I hesitated in answering, and started saying "trade," but quickly changed it to "farming".

"Farming," he barked, laughing. He grabbed the chair opposite me an swung it around, straddling it.

"What," I asked shyly, as if wondering if he knew I was lying.

"No woman farms, they're too fragile. Couldn't even lift a shovel." I acted insulted, like he had struck a blow at my dignity. I pushed myself from the table angrily, and stomped off towards the door.

By looking in a mirror located next to the door, I could see Irwin looking smug. I wondered momentarily if he'd follow me, but I dismissed that thought as he sat himself with the broads. The only person he'd be walking home with would be one of those girls.

As I turned the rusted handle, and pulled the door open, a cold gust of wind blew in from the outside. The rain had stopped, and the remaining water dripped from the rims of the rooftops and slithered down walls. The ground was muddy, and I frequently slipped. Even I, with my amazing balance; I couldn't avoid falling on my bum, after a few minutes of navigating the streets.

I sat for a second trying to compose myself, and continue on my way. I had landed with my arms behind me, in a failed attempt to break my fall. I removed them from the mud and observed my hands. They were covered with the thick goop, as so was my bum.

I shifted my shoulders forward, balancing my body on my heels. I think lifted myself and wiped my dirt hands on my robe. I peeled my feet from there indents in the ground, making squelching noises. I lifted my leg up to my stomach and carefully selected a place to step. It was then that I noticed a footmark a few paces off form where I was standing. It was most likely a man's shoe, judging from the size. Farther up there lay more tracks of the same shape. Curiosity overtook my caution, as I slowly traced them to the source. They seemed to be headed towards the narrow alley between two stores. It was then that I saw the shadow slowly emerging from the corner. I stood stock still, as adrenaline pumped through my body, prepared for danger. A hand slowly grabbed the wooden wall and as I took a closer look, a face came out of the darkness and into the light.

I was gone. And I don't mean 'gone', I mean gone. I was flying, the only thing going through my mind being to get as far away from this place as possible. My legs moved in unison, sprinting over the ground, not slipping once. I guess certain situations give you the ability to not fall.

I kept moving forward, not chancing a look back. I was steadily approaching the line of trees, and from there, the fields. I was home safe; he could never catch me at this rate.

But I couldn't return home, well the Stone's home. Not to stay anyway. I would grab my belongings, and head out. But to where? Bree was the closest town, and I could regroup there; buy the supplies I would need for my trip. Then I could ask around, find a more reclusive area, and then work with that. The only problem would be my passage, from the Stone's to Bree. I couldn't travel in the open, for he would surely be close at hand.

Perhaps Manuel would allow me to travel with him to his market. Yes, that could work. I would have to wait till morn, when he left but I would announce to him and his wife my decision tonight. Say my farewells and prepare my stuff.

I was surprised when my heart ached a bit. I really liked living and working there. Well, not so much the work as the people. It was the closest I had came in a long time, to having a real family. I would miss it, but I suppose it's for the best. I was becoming too emotionally attached for my own good. Before I knew it, I'd be wailing and balling every time I had to move on. This wasn't me, no.

I was strong, and independent, and I didn't need anything or anyone. I was lonely I admit, but it's nothing new. I've been lonely before and I will be again. It was my life, the life of a wanderer. Company isn't included in my package; nothing but pain and misery. Constantly fearing for my safety and running away.

I hated him for this; tracking me, watching me. He always showed up in time. And let's not forget the reason for all of these problems. What a father he turned out to be.

AN: So we got into a bit more action and revealed a little of Dani's past. Hope you enjoyed. Reviews would be awesome!!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Some Situations Call for You to Improvise

So as it turns it out, the Stone's weren't happy about my leaving. At first they had refused to let me go. Said that I was apart of their family now and it would break their hearts to lose me. Believe me when I say I would have happily agreed to stay, but he was coming; he was on his way right now. I couldn't risk their safety. No, I didn't even have a choice.

I informed them of my situation; how I was in danger. I knew they wouldn't put me before their children; I didn't blame them. The girls were their pride and joy, their angels. If their wellbeing was at stake they wouldn't hesitate in making me leave; which they didn't. I was to pack my belongings tonight and leave at dawn. Manuel agreed to let me accompany him to Bree.

I sat on the edge of my bed, for the last time, and contemplated my actions. My thoughts were interrupted by a lone shadow entering my doorway. My breath froze and my body tensed at the sight, and although I continued passing air, my muscled stayed stressed as Vernon entered my room. He shut the door behind him and an alarm went off in my head. I was prepared to grab my knife at a moments notice. Vernon stood still, staring at me with his foggy eyes. It was then that I noticed how young he was. I am one decade and five years old and he mustn't be but around a decade my senior.

He took one step at a time, slowly edging towards the bed. He rose his hands in what I thought was defense, a wise move on his part. But it turned out he was raising them in peace.

"I'm not here to harm you," he spoke quietly and slowly, making no sudden movements, as if he were talking to a wild animal.

"Then what is it that you are here for?" I questioned his presence.

"To talk." Once beside the bed, he looked at me before asking, "May I?" I nodded my head in acceptance and rotated my body to better face him.

"So what is it were talking about then?" He pondered the question for a moment, holding his chin.

"This problem of yours."

"I don't have a problem."

"Oh I beg to differ. I overheard you and the Stones arguing about your departure. And now I'm interested as to hear that you're not the good little girl I thought you to be." Yes because a teenage girl, traveling on her own, with not a penny to her name, just screams innocence. "Do tell who it is your running from." Part of me wanted to tell the truth, to let someone in on my burden. But of course, my overly cautious mind steered me away from it. My heart and my brain battled out a decision on what I was to tell Vernon, and eventually the first broke through.

"My father," I answered solemnly.

"Why?" I wondered what had caused him to ask these questions; this was by far the most he had ever spoken to me. He had never before taken interest in my affairs.

"Why does it matter?" We stared into each others eyes for a long moment.

"It doesn't."

"Then there's no answer." I ended the conversation and expected him to leave, but instead he moved closer and put his hand on my shoulder. In any usual circumstance Vernon would be on the floor with his arm twisted behind his back. But this wasn't usual, for his touch calmed me in a way I had never before experienced.

"Just remember, it's not always best to go with the initiative, some situations call for you to improvise." How was this supposed to help me? Throw out the strategy and go head first into a life or death situation; not the greatest proposal.

Still, it's the thought that counts.

Vernon picked himself up and finally left, leaving me once again to dwell in my thoughts.

The air outside was frosty; the grass covered with dew. The horses' fur was damp and gave off an unpleasant odor. Manuel and I stood beside the wagon, checking our supplies. Bag? Check. Money? Check. Food? Check. Genevieve had packed me 2 loaves of bread and some dried fruit. Knife? Check. Other knife? Check. I went through the list of items that I should have, and found that everything was there.

Manuel finished piling his boxes of produce, most which I had grown, and sat behind the reins. I placed myself in the rear, sitting among the crates. The wood was rough and splintery, and quite frankly uncomfortable. But I could deal; just a mere annoyance. I'd been through worse than a rough seat.

I needed to keep watch, look for any approaching figure, but I couldn't see from my place. I told Manuel to alert me if he saw any strangers. The ride took a few hours, without incident. We had only passed one person, and we took great caution. It was only a woman.

So I was officially without a home, once again. Manuel had left and I was on my own. And now I was going to enjoy the last few hours of time I had before I was on the run.

I had never before seen the market or Bree for that matter. It was nice, small; enclosed by many hills. There were a lot of market stores, but not just for vegetables. There were some that sold meat and some poultry. There was even one that sold fish and squid. Some where selling jewels and some were selling furniture.

I have to say my favorite one was run by some foreigners, selling seashells. They were probably sailors or perhaps they just lived on the shore. There were thousands of sparkling shells; dangling from the ceiling of their stand and in glass boxes aligning the walls. One shell in particular caught my eye. It was black and white along the edges. It was sophisticated yet simple. It was beautiful.

I pulled open my bag searching for my coin purse. I had just enough to buy it but that would leave me without any money for my supplies. I had to survive and I could live without the shell. It surprised me that I wanted it so badly. I wasn't one for material procession. But here I was about to spend what would feed me for a week. What was it about this shell that drove me crazy? Perhaps I could wager with the men. I took one coin out and placed it on the table.

"I'll give you one copper piece for that shell." They eyed the coin, greedily, but refused to take it.

"This beauty is worth at least a hundred times that." The old bearded man stood with his arms crossed, looking sure of himself.

"Tis just a shell," I argued. "I could easily find one myself. What makes this one so exceptional?" The man turned and opened the small box containing the magnificent thing and carefully pulled it out. He placed it on the counter and set his face level to mine.

"Ma' lady, do you have any idea where these shells come from?" No. I assumed they had been found near the Sea of Rhun. Without waiting for my reply he asked "Ever traveled to the Blue Mountains?" Once again no. I had for some time wondered along side them, whilst escaping from Dunland, but had gone no farther the first hills. "That is from where these shells reside."

"So your saying you found 'Sea' shells, in a mountain," putting emphasis on the 'sea'.

"That is what I'm saying." The man should take pride in himself, for he did what many could not, bewilder me. How would you find something that dwells in the water, when there isn't any water for it to dwell in? Yes, rivers run through but do they carry shells? I thought creatures like these only survive in sea-water; not fresh water.

"Could you further explain?" I asked with curiosity.

"I suppose you've never heard any tales of the Blue Mountains. Any stories referring to it." In all my years of traveling and wandering, along side many others who had experienced far more than I, had I ever heard any story about the Blue Mountains. And I obviously knew very little about the place, except for the fact of it's inhabitance by Elves.

He took my silence for a no and continued with his story. "There once was a war, of the Valar and Morgoth, in which many lives were lost. During this time, the great mountain range broke, and the sea flooded in. Many drowned in the rush of water and legend goes that the wandering souls found peace in the water and formed into these shells. Some hold magical powers that can bring you amazing abilities and some can bring forth destruction and misery."

Seems like I already picked up the latter.

An amazing object, if the story be true. I knew I had felt something powerful within the shell from the start. That must have been what had drawn me in and still is. Paying wasn't an option, stealing on the other hand. Very much an option.

Before he could even register what happened, I grabbed the shell, delicately as so not to break it, and dashed out of sight. I didn't turn back to see his reaction. I wouldn't risk it. If what he said about the shell was true, than I wouldn't want to stick around. I ran down the cobblestone road, filled with horses and buggies and people. I ran until the road turned to dirt, and small houses appeared in place of the market stands. Eventually, I found an Inn, which I quickly turned to. Looks like I'm already following Vernon's wise words.

The rooms' entrance was on the outside, which I took to an advantage. I walked towards the first door, checking my surroundings as I did so, and pulled a single pin from my hair. I pressed myself against the plank of wood, and listened for any sign of movement. I could faintly hear breathing, so I turned to the next room. I did this for several minutes, before finding a seamlessly unoccupied room. The sun had set a while back, so no one would be renting at this time of night.

I carefully placed the pin into the lock, and twisted it around a few times, until the faintest 'click' sounded my success. I silently pushed the door open, and paused listening again. My ears detected nothing, and guided by my senses, let the door swing into a wider position.

No person was present, as I had thought. The room was small and dingy, with a bed in the corner and a dresser on the wall. I lit a candle to get a better view. Above the dresser was a stained mirror, and opposite it, a sink. Next to the bed was a window with curtains, which I shut immediately. I set my bag down roughly on the floor, and kicked off my shoes. I gently lay the shell on the dresser top and turned for my bag. I pulled out one of my smaller knives, identical to the one I kept in my boot, which I pulled out also; placing one beneath the pillow and the other on the nightstand.

Pouring some hot water into the sink, I stripped myself of the belt that kept my too-big tunic tight against my stomach. I pulled it off also. I hastily loosened the ties in the back of my garment letting it fall forward. I slid my tights over my legs, trying not to contribute to the already large amount of holes in them. I removed the last piece of clothing covering my body and grabbed my rag from my sack.

I succeeded in cleansing myself of most of the dirt on my body and in my hair. And now I was letting my clothes soak. I lied down on the bed, dressed in only my cloth shirt, and quickly fell victim to sleep.

AN: Took me a while to finish up some parts in this story, but it was well worth it. If you enjoyed you should review! I need motivation!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: A Time for Change

I, being a light sleeper, awoke immediately to the disturbance. Fear gripping my heart, I dove onto the floor, making a loud bump in my haste, and crawled beneath the bed. I held my breath, and quickly came up with a few ideas of escape. Sadly they all seemed to conclude with my capture.

I hesitated, before scooting myself forward a few inches, to try and see who had wandered into the room. As I was doing this, a dull orange light flooded into the space beneath the bed, and stopped right under my nose. I saw two pairs of dark boots, one a little too close for comfort.

My body was in pain, from the unused adrenaline pumping through my system. I shook relentlessly and clenched my teeth, to keep from screaming. I had to get control of myself. Closing my eyes, I took deep, but silent, breaths; filling my lungs with oxygen and trying to flush out the unwanted hormones. It was like sleeping, or meditating. Blocking the outer distractions, and focusing on the body, on your inner soul; a practice which had been taught to me by an elf, traveling out of Rivendell.

It was then, coming out of my trance, that I noticed the face directly in front of mine.

"Well hello there," the stranger greeted me. In the dim light, I couldn't make out his face, but that voice; I knew that voice.

"How'd you find me?" I asked, not for stalling but to simply know, for they did it rather fast.

"The clothes in the sink gave it away." Oops. This slip in my memory, reminded me that I was wearing next to nothing. The mound sounded fairly decent, perhaps I would go untouched. As for a plan, there was no use. I would wait for an opportune moment, and go from there.

"So what is it that you're doing in my room?" Still that voice, I knew it, I'd heard it before, but from where?

"Last time I checked this was my room." I longed for him to pull from under the bed, so as to see his face, but I'd rather not be exposed.

As if reading my mind, he grabbed me by the wrists, and soon I was standing in front of two men; one named Irwin.

"Well look who it is, Dani! So we meet again." I couldn't believe it.

"Irwin, what are you doing in Bree?" I had paid no attention to the other man in the room, until he spoke up.

"Irwin? Strider, what's the lady talking about?" I gave Irwin, or rather Strider, a knowing look.

"Thank you for informing Miss Dani of that," he said this with a falsely sweet tone. "You may go."

"But I want my money. The little wretch…"

"She'll pay later. Now get out!" So this Strider seemed rather upset about the other man revealing his name. I figured he must've worked here, since he wanted my money. After the door was shut, I turned back to the man at question.

"You know how I feel about not being introduced." We both turned to face the other.

"My apologies, he was just the innkeeper. You should've known considering you rented out a room."

"How do you know if I did know and was just acting as if I didn't?"

"I don't." He answered without missing a beat. Most would stumble on the question and blubber stupidly. He sensed my surprise and chuckled to himself. "I saw how the lock was picked. You weren't fooling anyone." I smiled, extremely uncomfortable in my lack of clothing.

For a while, we just stood and stared, but eventually our conversation continued.

"You might want to put some clothes on." He had a smirk upon his face, which I wished to slap off.

"I'd love to, so if you'd kindly leave." I gestured to the door.

"I'm not going anywhere." Nasty perverted man. I grabbed my clothes from the sink, still a little damp, and turned to get my shell, but… "Looking for this?" Strider dangled my beloved shell before me, tempting me to reach out and grab it. This was a characteristic gesture of a man. Once you moved your hand forward, he would grab it and pull you closer. Then talk greedily and breathe in your face; sometimes a hint of alcohol was found. Then you'd have a snappy remark, which would be returned with a rough kiss. With a quick kick in the groin, soon you'd be on your merry way.

I'd long since learned to beware such amateur tricks. Instead I shrugged carelessly, stuffed my clothes into my bag, and lifted it onto my shoulder.

"Don't care," I said simplistically.

"Don't care? I doubt you'd carry along a sea shell, if you didn't care." The tone of his voice, angered me for I was the one being mocked.

"Actually, I found it and figured I could make some money off it. That's the only reason it's stayed with me. Now if you'd excuse me Mr. Strider, I'd like to be on my way." I gave a fake attempt to shove past him, only to be blocked.

"It's past midnight, where are you going?" He continued to question me, and my patience grew thin.

"Anywhere but here if you would move!" He smiled; happy to be giving me a heart attack. He swung my shell around his finger, and my nerves screamed. I hoped he didn't see the look of terror on my face.

He finally handed it back, and this time without caring about the result, grabbed it.

"Thank you!" And with that I shoved passed him, with actual force this time, and made my way to the door. "Hopefully, this will be our last encounter." I slammed the door, and walked off in search of a nice tree to stay in. Luckily I hadn't encountered anyone, for once I found an Oak I realized that I was without pants.

Conveniently, I had chosen one of the tallest places to settle in. I could look over tree and roof tops alike, and see into the main street. My view also included the Inn and the gate into Bree. Mr. Stone came into the town from a different place, so apparently I had wondered to the other side.

I stayed in my tree until the sun rose and the streets bustled with life. I hopped down from temporary home, and left in search of food. Because of my dilemma, made by the shell, I had failed to gather my supplies. I set out in search of a market, but all seemed to be run by pig headed men. Four stands I visited and all ended in my leaving. It was always hard to be a female and a nomad. Often would you come upon troubles with the opposite sex. It was especially hard being so young. It's difficult to remember when I set out. I may have been six, or five years. I was little, then, I still am. Not ten years has passed since then. How frightful it is, when you're on your own. The dark overwhelms; a fear of things you can't see. The day; a fear of things you can.

I hadn't experienced anything truly frightful, until after I left Dunland. Since then I've despised men. A woman like me couldn't go anywhere without being harassed. I wanted adventure and escape mostly, but no one would take a girl seriously.

Perhaps it was time for a change.


End file.
